


Take Hands

by Orselina



Category: Egyptian Mythology
Genre: Almost M/M, Ancient Egyptian Literature & Mythology, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Feels, First Time, Gods, Jealousy, M/M, Paganism, Sibling Incest, Sibling Rivalry, Wedding Night, f/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orselina/pseuds/Orselina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tonight there is no Holy Land.  There are no men.  There are no Gods.  There is nothing outside of this room.  There is only you and I.   I am your domain, my King.  Rule me."<br/>Ancient Egypt, the dawn of Man; four brothers and sisters are born of the Earth and Sky.  Two become the first rulers of man, the other two get a little short-shifted.  In the heat of passion, true feelings are revealed during their wedding night.<br/>The myths are famously vague in describing the intimate details and feeling of the Gods.  This is my try effort to fill in the blanks, and portray them as relate-able and dimensional as possible.  It's the least I can do for them :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Because Gods have no DNA, I am reluctant to call this "incest," but as some are sure to see it as such, I'd rather err on the side of caution. 
> 
> I'm using the original Kemetic (Egyptian) names of the Gods rather than the more well-known Hellenized versions. Here's a cheat sheet :)
> 
> Aset = Isis  
> Wesir = Osiris  
> Sutekh = Set/h  
> Nebethet = Nephthys  
> Djehuty = Thoth
> 
> Finally the comment about a "son" at the end is a reference to the avenging son Aset has later on the the tryst that forms between he and Sutekh.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The decorations of the Coronation/Wedding were left for the other Gods to clean up. The canopy, the flowers, the bread, the beer, and the incense were not the responsibilities of the four young Scions. Their prerogative on this night was something completely different. 

From the opulent Courtyard with its palms and olive trees, to the Grand Hall with its heavy peacock feather-and-pomegranate design tapestries hanging from the cool white marble, and finally to the boudoir lush with pillows, drapes, and coverlets of red, rust, bordeaux - he had made it. Wesir made it to the safety of a boudoir. It was not just any boudoir, but the *royal* boudoir. He was a king now. "King." The word felt heavy and cumbersome on his tongue. 

He turned to his new wife and queen, fearful eyes peeking through a crown of orange blossom, pepper berry, and gazelle horn. "Aset, I must admit I have fears that I'm misplaced," he admitted, with sweaty palms latching onto hers. Mere feet away, their brother and sister were further along into their embrace, backed up against a short armoire. 

She laughed playfully, picking a stray blossom from his curly brown thatch of a beard. "Then take my hands."

He was immediately taken back to a game they played as children, ducking into that very courtyard in between the lessons of their mentor, Djehuty. 

"Arm seeks out an arm, fingers lace, palm to palm, heart to heart, face to face." It consisted solely of softly brushing fingers against inner arms, trailing them down to palms, and flirtatious exchanges of glances. Wesir chuckled the day he realized that this was not a game, but a thinly veiled excuse for his sister to be close to him. It warmed his heart like nothing else. 

He snapped back to the present after a few calls of his name. Aset continued to laugh. Apparently their brother and sister also noticed his momentary lapse of time and place, and they ceased mid-kiss to glance at him.

"The humble king," Sutekh now said with a slight smirk. It contained just the slightest amount of acid, as did most of what he said. His odd alabaster hands (unlike the copper skin of the other three) were resting on his lithe hips. "Give the act a rest, and enjoy your honeymoon." He resumed to paying attention to the petite new bride before him.

The aforementioned acid was not without reason. Wesir and Aset were prophesied as the future King and Queen of the kingdom of man from the moment of their birth. Sutekh and Nebethet, the younger son and daughter, respectively, were given domain of the barren deserts that lie outside of the Nile Valley. It was no meager domain, but one that Sutekh nonetheless resented, having no say over the order of his birth. A lover of clouds, damp winds, and moist earth, the association with a land so dry came off like a personal affront. His sister, more stoic - or, perhaps, more passive? - than he, took the ruling with stride. He, however, was not afraid of a little snark and dissent here and there. 

Aset, desperately trying to save Wesir - *her* Wesir - from his fog, pulled him down for smoldering kiss. She dragged him by his large brown hand, and lead him towards the large (easily large enough for four) poster bed. He allowed himself to sink into the sea of red velvet and silk, as a soft voice and a pair of wild brown eyes above him promised, "Tonight there is no Holy Land. There are no men. There are no Gods. There is nothing outside of this room. There is only you and I. I am your domain, my King. Rule me." 

It worked. The gravity of her words were enough to shallow his breathing, and, in his impressive strength, flipped them over so that now he was the pair of brown eyes above hers. Impressive, as flipping her was not an easy feat. In her full arms, expansive hips, and thick legs, she was no feather. She was sturdy, and plentiful like a well-rooted sycamore covered in delicate foliage. He loved this about her. She could not be easily tossed aside, in any sense of the word. She was his very own tree. 

Rash, sloppy kisses made their way down her neck, her glistening collarbone, lingered on her humble breasts, and her soft belly. He traced his eager tongue down the line of curls that lead to the magnificence into he had dreamed of diving since her ample body began to develop. 

She languidly ran a hand through his coarse hair as his eyes disappeared from her view. "Isn't it I who should be presenting gifts onto you, my King?" she managed to say between sighs. Really, she was only half serious, as she would probably have burst if he did actually cease. 

He looked up then, his dark eyes serious, and his lips soaked. "You ARE. I can't think of a more worthy gift to receive." 

Her eyes rolled back as he returned to task, aroused incredibly by the words, in tandem with the action, of his tongue. In her release, she was anything but dignified, clumsily propped up on an elbow, eyes screwed shut, hair matted and disheveled from friction. Yet, somehow, to Wesir, this was the most beautiful sight - an indescribable sensation, from a beautiful wife, caused by his own actions. For what more could a King ask?

As she lay slumped on her side, barely able to utter that she needed a moment to collect herself, Wesir glanced to the other side of the room. Sutekh and Nebethet were now in a very different entanglement on that same armoire, with her seated on the edge of it, sinewy brown legs wrapped around the pale outline who bucked against her. He felt a twinge of regret, assuming their location of choice was based on his failure to formally invite them to the bed. "Formally invite." There it was again, that uncertainty in the pit of his belly...

No.

Not tonight. No men, no kingdom, no titles. Just this, here and now. As if reading his thoughts (and, really, who knows if she couldn't?), she called out in a voice rough with lust, "Hey, you two. Fuck over here. I plan on using that armoire!" Wesir let out a belly laugh. Aset was many things, but subtle was not one of them. He loved that about her, too.

Wesir heard his brother let out an indelicate groan, and he could not tell if it was the agitation of being interrupted, or his release. Why would he know intimately the sounds of his brother? In either case, they quickly found their way to the large bed, and, interestingly, in the same position as the other couple. Both brothers lay on their backs with their wives concentrated on their lower halves, faces hidden by massive manes of black curls. With no eyes with which to come into contact, both young Gods found their eyes trailing up to each others'. 

They lay there, inches apart, staring wordlessly and expressionlessly at each other, save for the occasional grimace or chewing on the lip that came from the fervent mouths sliding up and down their cocks. There was certainly that. Even with Sutekh's porcelain, doll-like face, and intense moss-green eyes on him, there was no ignoring the pleasure bestowed on him by his loving wife. The combination was almost more than Wesir could handle. 

Sutekh, on the other hand, seemed cavalier in comparison, finally breaking the staring contest with a succession of blinks, and a slim hand white hand that crawled his way into his broad, tawny one. "I love you, brother," he finally spoke, almost as a mewl.

If it did not register to Wesir's ears as sexual, it is only because it may have been the very first time he'd heard those words from him. Growing up, Sutekh always kept a slight distance from both he and Aset. Never cruel, just slightly cold. Wesir smiled warmly, graciously. "Oh, I love you too," he whispered. He didn't know why he felt this to be the appropriate time to mention it, but he followed up with, "You and Nebethet are welcome to stay as long as you like. You will not be rushed off to the desert." 

Sutekh turned his face back upward, coolly. "I must go where I belong." With the slightest sigh, came his release. It was in very stark contrast with the gritted teeth, strained neck muscles, and hoarse moans that accompanied his brother's eventual orgasm. They released hands, finally, as Wesir rolled over to climb and explore his restless wife like the tree she was. He did not want to read into that strange moment with his brother. It meant nothing, and this night was not about him. 

And it worked. As he pounded into her with reckless and undisciplined thrusts, he found himself lost in the sounds of slapping skin and guttural panting, the potent smell of her arousal, and the slick shine of her skin under the warm lanterns. At that moment, he couldn't have been able to tell you his own name, let alone his brother's. After a final shudder, he limply sank onto her soft body, and very quickly was lulled to sleep there. It crept to her soon after. 

 

A few noises roused Wesir from his sleep - the creak of the mattress as a body slid off, the lighting of a match to the lantern, the clay-on-clay grunt of a lid coming off a wine jug, and the slurp of a sip. Wesir groggily sat up. The girls did not stir. In the corner of the room, Sutekh sat on a low ottoman with a cup of wine in his hand. In the warm glow, Wesir noted that his brother's normally deep auburn appeared completely black, and his alabaster skin shone like gold. He almost looked like one of them. He gave the older brother a lazy, toothy grin. "Which do you think has truly made you a man today, my brother? That?" he aimed the lantern to the crown that lay haphazardly on the rug - "Or that?" He now aimed it at the dormant Aset.

Wesir may have still been half asleep - and in no mood for riddles - but he was awake enough to be slightly perturbed by the referral of his Queen as, "that." When he didn't answer, Sutekh continued to muse. "A crowned head, or a wet cock? What makes a King?" 

After another awkward moment, Wesir finally looked at him, assuming that letting the unanswered musing stew would ruin an otherwise stupendous night. "Sutekh, I have never had any control over our placements." The words surprised himself more than they did Sutekh. It was a minor epiphany born at the very moment the words rolled off his tongue. "You said you love me. You know I love you. I would never look down on you or turn you from my home. You could ask anything of me, and I would never doubt to trust you."

Without hesitation, "She would." Wesir did not need to ask, "Who?" It was true that Aset, in her concern and candidness, found herself wary of their brother's less-than-subtle hints of resentment. The crossed arms, the rolled eyes, the sudden long walks beyond the grounds of the Palace whenever Djehuty would ramble on about "The Chosen One." Wesir noticed it too, but was too full of love - and, perhaps, naivete - to feel anything more than pity. 

"And I don't want your pity, either," Sutekh continued, apparently picking up in speech where the other's thoughts trailed off. 

Wesir frowned, thoughtfully. "What is it you want from me? What can I give you that we can both look upon this night, years from now, in nothing but joy?"

Sutekh took a quick gulp of wine. Unbeknownst to either of them, the clink of the cup hitting the floor woke Aset. She remained silent. 

"What I want..." Sutekh began, in almost a growl, "is to know what kind of tenderness you'll show every drooling peon that lies outside the Palace. Tomorrow, when all of *this* is over, and your real job begins, what will you say to them? What can a spoiled boy with flowers in his hair teach man? When their crops wilt, and their children die, and their wars begin - and they will, eventually - and all your pious phrases and sermons fail you... how will you comfort them? Hmm? Will you simply tell them you love them? Will you fuck them senseless like your wife? Or will you lie beside them, gazing into their eyes like you did me?" Sutekh stood, trying to hide that he was a bit wobbly. Aset gripped a little tighter onto her coverlet. 

Wesir began to feel sick. He rushed up from the bed and, with shaky hands, grabbed Sutekh's face. "Stop it! Stop it!" It was a whisper, but one with great urgency. His face gleamed in a nervous sweat. Unable to find away to appease the storm God's pain, he instinctively pulled him in for a kiss. It was an impassioned kiss, even though a closed-mouth; one of compassion, fear, and, yes, pity. He pulled back. "Why do you say these things?"

Sutekh misconstrued his brother's breaking of the kiss. "I sicken you." He hissed. Before the King could answer, he continued, "I don't look like any of you. I don't think like any of you, I -"

Wesir shook his head, violently. "No. No. You are beautiful. You are your own, and I love that in you!" 

"Then show me!" He pulled his hips towards him, and grinded them with his own, but the older brother once again pulled back, fighting the strained erection beginning to form. 

"You are beautiful," he repeated, in a softer, more cognizant of the presence of their sisters. "And perhaps if it were just you and I... I don't know. Maybe? But you must know that everything I do, everything I am, everything I will ever be is for Aset. She is my rock, Sutekh." His heart was racing, and he paused to catch his breath. He let go of his face. "You asked me before which is it that makes the king. It's not the crown. It's *her.* Not the crown. " Aset smiled into her pillow.

The younger God's cold green eyes remained unwavering, but the rest of his face and stance softened. "You'll be rid of me by tomorrow," was all he could muster up. He dropped back to the ottoman. 

"I hope never to be," Wesir answered, matter-of-factly, ignorance of the weight those words carried. "Go to sleep." He glanced over at Nebethet. "You have a rock, now, too, you know." 

Sutekh simply snorted in response. Wesir, at a loss for any more words, climbed into bed, spooning the warm, inviting body of his Queen. He was already beginning to drift to sleep by the time his brother, resigned and a touch tipsy, climbed in beside him. Wesir did not feel the kiss his brother planted on the back of his neck before he turned over to his own wife. 

 

At some point early in the morning, the King and Queen stirred to a half-awake, leisurely lust, aimlessly fumbling fingers among crevices and folds, and giggling into the crooks of necks until they fell asleep once more. What may have been an hour (or two, perhaps?) later, he once again opened his eyes, but this time to a soothing... a soothing what? What was she humming?

"Arm seeks out an arm, fingers lace, palm to palm, heart to heart, face to face." This time it was his turn to smile into the pillow. He wrapped his arm around her tight. "My rock. My tree. My queen." They kissed, the taste of each others' release still lingering on their tongues. 

Nebethet, meanwhile, sat up to find she was alone. She looked at her brother and sister, squirming in their embrace, and sighed sadly. She expected this would not be the last time she looked upon them with envy.

 

By that time, Sutekh was already out on another one of his walks, needing to clear the head full of wine, strange words, and pious rejections. The sun barely peaked through a sky brilliant in blues, yellows, and pinks. A thought hit him. In fact, it hit him with such force that his halt kicked up sand. "A son. What if they have a son...?"


End file.
